


Crusade

by rhymeswithmonth



Series: Faith [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, M/M, au: crimes of grindelwald didn't happen, au: graves and credence were romantically involved prior to grindelwald, graves is still a bucket of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:21:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: The plan itself, once it’s finally in place, is simple.Grindelwald is holding a recruitment meeting in a remote hamlet deep in the forests of Latvia. They’d received the tip from an undercover auror a few weeks ago. Hundreds of such rumours had come to them over the course of the past year, and each were treated with the equal care, equal gravity, despite most of them turning out to be dead ends. This time everything is falling into place just like the informant said it would.Sequel to Testament. Grindelwald is on the loose and actively recruiting in Europe, always a step ahead of the joint government task-force. Until now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh sequel?  
This resumes some months after the Mexico scene in Testament.

** Crusade ** \ krü-ˈsād \ (Middle French _croisade_ and/or Spanish _cruzada_; from Latin _cruc-, crux_ cross)  
1 a : (historically) any of various military expeditions undertaken by Christian powers to recapture the Holy Land  
b : a vigorous and dedicated action or movement in favour of a cause

The plan itself, once it’s finally in place, is simple.

Grindelwald is holding a recruitment meeting in a remote hamlet deep in the forests of the country that was until recently known as Latvia. They’d received the tip from an undercover auror a few weeks ago. Hundreds of such rumours had come to them over the course of the past year, and each were treated with the equal care, equal gravity, despite most of them turning out to be dead ends. This time everything is falling into place just like the informant said it would.

They wait for the group to gather in the inn at the centre of the town. A man matching Grindelwald’s description is seen entering through the back, along with several of his known associates. Once they receive a signal from their man who was posing as a dish-boy in the kitchen, they set up an anti apparition field and move into position. And they wait.

The signal comes. They make their move. Chaos erupts.

It feels immediately different than all the other raids, it feels like they’ve actually got them. The gathered wizards scatter like ants whose nest has been uprooted, and spells begin to fly. It was always going to be a hard fight, their side is aiming to capture as many and kill as few as possible, to gain as much information as they can. Their appointments have no such reservations, desperation lending a keen edge to their fighting. But they have the element of surprise and they maintain the perimeter. Closing in and tightening their hold on the village.

Time passes strangely in battle, but it must’ve only been maybe a quarter hour before the streets are full of smoke. It’s not natural, thicker and darker than it should be. It makes it impossible to distinguish between friend and foe until they are nearly upon you. “On your guard!” Graves shouts a warning above the din, “_Lumos_!”

The spell doesn’t do much good, the light just hits the smokescreen and makes it more opaque. Graves extinguishes it in frustration, just as somebody barrels directly into him from the side. Stumbling, he drags the body to the ground, planting a knee on his chest and getting his wand in his face. His face. He’s met with an impossibility. A ghost.

“_Credence_.” He breathes, dropping his wand. It can’t be, but it is. Here, in the midst of battle, in the middle of the the Eurasian wilderness. Alive and solid beneath him. He looks exactly the same as he’d been last time he’d seen him, as if he’d been transported directly out of Graves’ most tender memories. His inky curls spill a halo around his head, his skin pale but flushed with vibrant life, his lovely face parted open in breathless surprise. Here. Alive. “Credence.” He repeats, a sob.

“Percival.” Credence responds, his voice the most soothing lullaby to chase away a years worth of waking nightmare with a single utterance, “You have to save me.”

Graves can’t feel his limbs as he’s dragged into a building, through a deserted parlour and into a small room. He feels weightless and slow, like he’s in a dream. Credence - _Credence! _on the other hand is moving quickly, darting around in a way that’s too rapid for Graves’ shock stupid brain to follow.

The room doesn’t contain much. Just a small bed, modest armoire, and a spindly table. Oddest of all there’s a birdcage of all things sitting there, with a small black crow inside. When they stumble through the door the bird startles and begins to flap its wings and caw. Credence ignores it and drags a patchy leather bag out from under the table and hurriedly throws the few items scattered about the room into it.

None of it makes sense. There are so many questions wizzing through Graves’ brain but it’s a struggle to collect himself to articulate them. Every time he tries he looks at Credence, and is so overwhelmed at the sight of him _alive_ and healthy and _here_ that his tongue ties up and he can’t do anything but just gaze at him.

The bird is really causing quite a ruckus. Graves has to yell to be heard. “Credence, please. Can you just-” He catches hold of his elbow, and just about loses track of his thoughts again at the solid warm weight of his arm against his palm. He pulls his to sit beside him on the bed. “Please just tell me what’s happening! How are you here? They told me you’d been killed.”

Although he allows himself to sit, Credence is still twitching, eyes darting around the room, feet tapping on the floor. Graves reaches out to hold his face, unable to stand another moment without really truly looking. All he wants to do is stay like this forever, to drink up the face that he thought was lost to him. But he needs answers.

“They did try their best to. Kill me.” Credence says, in a tone Graves has never heard on his lips. It’s low and soft but with a bitter acid burn to it. “They nearly did, they tore me apart! It’s taken so long for me to put myself together. That’s why _we need to go!_” He digs his fingers into Graves’ arm, hard enough to pinch skin through his clothes, “Please, you’ve got to get me out of here. They want me dead, they’re going to do it again!”

Graves strokes a thumb over the ridge of his cheek, trying to sooth his panic, “I promise I won’t let them hurt you again. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there before, but I’m here now. Listen to me - we’re here to catch Grindelwald, we’re going to get him for good. Now they know that everything in New York was his fault not yours, you’ll be safe with us.”

Credence face warps and he pulls away abruptly, standing back up and pacing the floor. Graves feels cold without him in his arms. “You aren’t listening!” Credence shouts, eyes wild. “I’m not going to be safe, your people want me dead! You need to take me away from here right now! You can’t let them have me!”

The crow is flapping against the bars of its cage, it’s caws growing louder with Credence’s panic. Whirling around Credence slams his hand against the cage, rattling it violently “Shut up!” He yells at it while shaking it. The bird falls limply to the floor of the cage but doesn’t stop cawing. Credence snarls and tosses the cage into the wall, which stuns the creature to silence.

“Please calm down!” Graves begs him, alarmed, standing and opening his arms, “It’s okay, you’re right, I’ll get you out of here. Just take a breath, I can get you to a portkey that’ll take you to our safe-house, you can wait for me there alright?”

At that, Credence’s manic tension splits a little, allowing a relieved smile to split his face. “Yes!” He breathes, drifting back towards him “Thank you. Let’s go now, we must be quick. Where’s the portkey?”

“I’ll take you to it, just. Take a breath okay? Come here.” For a moment it seems like Credence isn’t going to listen, standing rigid across the room. But after a beat he melts and crosses back over into Graves’ arms. He allows himself to be embraced, leaning into the hug and returning it, his hands light on Graves’ back. Over his shoulder Graves can see the crow struggle to its feet in its cage, clearly injured and favouring a wing. There’s a glint of blood around its break. It had been an unusual show of cruelty from Credence, who’d usually refuse to hurt even the smallest bug. Graves’ heart pounds and he hugs Credence closer, pressing his nose to his hair. He smells like unfamiliar spices, smokey evergreen and incense. The crow opens its beak and lets out a long and feeble croak.

Something cold is clawing at Graves’ chest that even holding Credence in his arms isn’t soothing. He holds tighter, twining his fingers in Credence’s hair, just as thick and soft as he remembers it. But when he touches the spot where his skull and spine join, the spot where an old scar should be raised and puckered - evidence of being pushed into the corner of a counter as a child hidden above his hairline - there is only smooth skin.

Graves leans back to look at the other man’s face. Credence stares back at him. The beautiful, beloved face is perfect in every way; everything from the way his eyelashes clump, the pale freckles across the top of his cheeks, the bump of his nose, the angle that his ears peak out from his hair. His hair is the same length as it had been when Graves was taken, long enough to fame his face, long enough to curl, always charmingly dishevelled. It’s all there. But the scar…Graves searches for another flaw, something else amiss. There’s the silver chain of the necklace he’d given to him what seems like a lifetime ago, it’s half hidden in the folds of his jacket but Graves spots the charm, which has taken on an intricate shape, a circle engulfed in a triangle, bisected with a vertical line.

The crow is shrieking again. Time slows to a crawl and it takes an age to form the word, in the end he can only whisper it, fingers still partially twined in the soft dark hair, “_Revelio_.”

The other man’s eyes widen, in one moment Credence’s familiar warm grey, the next mismatched ice blue and pitch black. The imposter lunges away, face transforming as he goes, aging by decades, hair shortening and turning pure white. Grindelwald snarls like an animal, teeth gnashing. The air swirls between them thick with magic. They both brandish their wands.

“Sharper than you look Graves!” Grindelwald sneers, “you’ve learned something since last time eh?”

Graves can’t answer, the cold in his chest has flooded up into his throat. How many times can his heart survive this breaking? The feeling of having Credence in his arms is still so fresh, but the memory sours by the second as he absorbs what’s happening, what has almost happened. If he hadn’t noticed, if he’d taken Grindelwald to the portkey, allowed him access to their safe-house, allowed him to escape once again. And he’d been _wearing Credence’s face_. The rage is a hurricane inside him. He levels his wand at the man-shaped monster, ready.

Grindelwald has bested him in their last duel, but Graves had been a different man then, overconfident and soft, lacking proper motivation. Now he is nothing if not motivated. They exchange blows, all wordless, trying to get a leg up on the other. Aiming to kill. Grindelwald is still not completely himself, his features flickering back towards Credence’s likeness. Perhaps he thinks to force Graves to hold back, to make him hesitate. Graves increases his pace, determined to rip him apart. He won’t be able to steal Credence’s face when he’s dead.

Outside the fighting is ferocious too, he can hear the crashing of duels over there, the building rattles with it. All hell must have broken out and Grindelwald’s followers will be doing everything in their power to break past the lines to get free of the anti-apparation field. A curse hits the wall of the room, sending a spray of sparks and splinters of wood over them both. Graves throws himself to the floor, robes aflame. He rolls to extinguish it, Grindelwald is doing the same, bleeding heavily from scratches to his face.

Through the hole in the wall a figure appears, stumbling through the runnable with an arm in front of his face. Graves blinks back tears and squints through the smoke, recognizing the man. “Abernathy!” He coughs, “Abernathy that’s Grindelwald, grab him!”

Abernathy obeys immediately, taking advantage while Grindelwald’s still stunned from the blast, seizing him around the chest and hauling him against the wall. Graves staggers to his feet, hope filling his chest. They’ve got him, they might just win this. Abernathy turns, one hand fisted at Grindelwald’s throat. “Good!” Graves wheezes, raises his wand shakily and starts to say “Petrif-“

Abernathy is faster _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ he says, and Graves’ entire body goes stiff. The curse sends him crashing back to the floor, numb from head to toes. He can’t move, can’t speak, can only watch in mounting dread as Abernathy releases Grindelwald. No! It couldn’t be! Abernathy of all people, a traitor! They’d been so careful, only bringing the most trusted agents onto the task force. Abernathy has been with them for years - hired straight out of Ilvermorny.

Like a nightmare, Grindelwald transforms in front of his eyes, morphing smoothly back into Credence’s likeness. Abernathy hands him his thick overcoat and hat, which he pulls low over his face. “Well this has been truly enjoyable Graves, I really must dash.” He turns, raising his wand, “you’ve been most useful old boy, thank you ever so much. But I’m afraid our time together must now come to an end. Avada K-“

Before he can utter the final death blow, out of nowhere the crow flies straight into his face - it must have been freed in the explosion - screaming and clawing viciously. Grindelwald reels and swats at the animal, cursing, “Blasted creature! Get off me! GET HIM OFF!”

Strangely Grindelwald doesn’t fend the bird off with magic, which would have been easy. Instead he and Abernathy jump around trying to catch it, to no avail. Like a demon possessed the bird whirls about the rafters out of their reach, diving down to pluck and scratch at them. The distraction gives Graves precious time to focus his energy inward, applying all anti-curse technique he’s ever learned to try and break the petrification. It works excruciatingly slowly but it works, he wiggles his finger, then is able to feebly lift a shoulder. Just as Abernathy manages to grab the crow’s wing, dragging it out of the air, Percival regains enough of his nerves to roll, jerking his wand in a mindless surge of pure power, and the room explodes.

It’s so strong he hits himself too, and when he blinks white spots out of his vision, and his hearing returns, the room is completely destroyed and Grindelwald and Abernathy have disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

When it’s all over and they’re picking themselves up out of the dust, it’s not even noon. The sun is only just beginning to peak up over the trees, frost still thick on the ground. It all happened so fast, weeks of buildup and now they’re right back where they started.

Admittedly its not a total loss. They’ve captured nine wizards and witches, hopefully one of them knows something of worth, intel that will suggest what Grindelwald is planning next.

On top of that they’d uncovered a hoard of dark objects in the basement of the inn - unregistered wands, hexes, crates of sinister looking potions, as well as some nomaj weapons which is more alarming still. Their people aren’t as well trained to face guns and bombs as they are wands and jinxes. Graves makes an exhausted mental note to start integrating more nonmagical defensive training into their programs.

They wrap up their business as quickly as possible; the frost might be melting but the locals remain as frigid as they’d been since they arrived. Their heavy gazes are mostly directed at Vitaliy and Yelena, who are all but painted targets in their NKMD* uniforms. As they dismantle the anti-apparition field the townsfolk begin to emerge to go about their day, the streets growing steadily more crowded. The tension ramps up steadily, someone flings mud that hits Vitaliy’s shoulder, muttered curse in coarse Latvian. Graves knows that their Soviet escorts have been instructed to observe and not engage, but if they stay much longer it may become inevitable.

Emery and O’Brien are the only ones with injuries that warrant tending off site, so they’re bundled off to the city while the rest of them gear up to retreat to the safe house on broom. It’s not too far, but removed enough from the village to escape the risk of civil uprising. It’s really just a farmhouse, fallen into disrepair and infringed upon by the growth of the forest. The stripped interior serves its purpose; one long table for meals and the rest of the living space dominated by maps and schematics and overflowing bins of reports. They troop in, high noon light streaming through the dusty windows.

Jones starts at a lunch, the metallic pop of bean cans opening is by now a well familiar one. Graves isn’t hungry in the slightest. He strips off his leathers and then goes to the back porch. The way that the house is build at the crest of a hill means that the forest slopes away at the back, allowing a decent view out over the forest canopy and to the misty mountains beyond. The air is crisp and moist, but when the sun finds its way through gaps in the clouds it flashes liquid warm.

Every minute that passes is a minute that Grindelwald is able to slip further away. And it’s all Graves’ fault. He’d been so close - literally had the man in his grasp.

Tina joins him a few minutes later, stumbling over the threshold with a bowl in each hand. She passes one to him, the beans have been topped with an overly fried egg for protein. It’s utterly unappetizing at the moment, but Tina gives him this concerned look, “Eat.” She pleads, “Even if you aren’t hungry, your body is.”

He rolls his eyes at her mother-henning but picks up the dark crusty bread that’s balanced on the rim and takes a dry bite to appease her.

She speaks again as he chews, “Stop beating yourself up; it’s not your fault.”

He’s shaking his head before she’s finished speaking, eyes glued to the beans. “I should have known.” He mutters, “I let my emotions get the best of me. I wanted to believe that it was really him, even though I knew that it couldn’t be. And we lost Grindelwald because of it.”

Tina scoots closer to him along the step. She’s the only one who knows the full history, of what happened with Credence and why exactly Graves had faltered. The others only have bits and pieces of it. “Grindelwald is a master of disguise.” Tina says quietly, in her typical awkwardly kind manner, “When he was impersonating you it was astounding how…complete his act was. The way he walked, the inflection of his voice, right down to little habits and quirks. He’s good at what he does. Anyone would have been confused.”

Graves scrubs over his face, quite frankly sick and tired of constantly feeling like he’s on the brink of tears. It’s been nearly a year. Nearly a year since he’d woken up into a world without Credence in it. Nearly a year to ache for what has been taken from him. And he’d been dealing with it, he’ll never be completely healed but he’d at least come to a place where he could focus on work and not be haunted every moment by this ghost. Now that’s all fucked again. His hands won’t stop shaking. “He’s dead Tina. He’s dead and gone forever and I need to get that through my head. You were there, you saw it happen. There’s no way he could have survived.”

“Yes, _I_ was there and _I_ saw it happen. But you weren’t. You weren’t there and maybe that’s why it still doesn’t seem real. You never got to say goodbye-.”

“Careful Goldstein.” He warns, Tina’s a friend, but there are some things that even she- “You go too far.”

“Sorry.” She murmurs, and falls silent. They’re soon joined by the Scamanders anyway, the both of them perching like gangly ginger storks with bowls of beans on their knees.

“Got word from the pursuit team.” Theseus tells them, “They’ve snagged three more in the forest. Two Russians and one Swede, too disoriented from the fight to get away. So that’s twelve now, not a bad days work lads.”

From there the usual post-mission chatter flows forth, and Graves is spared any further prodding. Tina is distracted enough that she doesn’t notice when he vanishes his beans away instead of eating them. Graves stays mostly silent while the others talk amongst themselves, only answering direct questions. Trying to make a plan for their next move is near impossible at this point, Grindelwald could be headed just about anywhere in the world and they won’t know what to do until he slips up again and somebody spot him. Last time it had taken months. Now that they’re on the run and spooked it could very well take twice as long or more.

The others debate it, for the sake of not feeling utterly useless. He could be headed deeper into the Soviet wilderness, he’s got plenty of contacts here and the efforts of an international manhunt are made complicated by the tangled politics. Every border they cross within the USSR has to be submitted for approval, which means time wasted on paperwork and the humming and hawing of governments. But it’s still preferable for them if he stays in Europe, if he decides to flee to somewhere outside of the confederation he could disappear for years. There’s always the possibility he could return to Germany, he’d done it many times before, but by this point the Germans are on such high alert it’d be beyond foolish.

One thing they all agree on is that he’s miles away from here by now. And they’re left sitting here twiddling their thumbs until their next lucky break.

The fatigue hits hard just a little while later, Graves nearly dozed off where he sits, listing sideways on the step, eyelids heavy and head throbbing. He’s struggling to muster up the energy to remove himself to his tiny cot, but the sun has stayed out for a few minutes and the warmth seeping into his bones has liquified his joints and moving seems abhorrent at the moment.

With his eyes closed he gets no warning beyond the little yelp that Tina makes from beside him. Something smacks him in the face, jolting him into high alert in an instant. He lunges to his feet, sending the thing to drop down. It’s a bird, small and black and familiar. _The_ bird saves itself from hitting the ground and flutters back up into Graves’ face, scrabbling at the fabric of his coat with its claws.

“What the devil?” Theseus exclaims, “Is that thing possessed?”

It certainly seems like it might be, Graves bats it away, only for the it to return again, determined to barrage him. He doesn’t want to hurt it but the bird had been in Grindelwald’s possession, who knows what sort of creature it is. He draws his wand.

“Oh wait wait wait!” Newt is beside him, grabbing his elbow, “Don’t hurt it just let me-“ with remarkable agility he gets a hand out and grabs the bird, expertly pinning its wings and trapping it against his chest. “It’s just a little birdy, no harm done.”

Graves exhales, adrenalin subsiding as suddenly as it had hit him. Merlin he’s tired. Pushing his hair back into order he doesn’t put his wand away just yet. “It’s not just any bird. That’s the same one that Grindelwald had with him.”

Tina gapes, “The same one? Are you sure?”

He’s sure. “See those marks on its face? The ways it’s wing hangs there? That’s the same bird. Grindelwald threw its cage and injured it, and look it’s got some burns there from the explosion.”

The others crowd around to look. In Newt’s arms the bird looks truly pitiful, shaking like a leaf and emitting feeble peeps. Newt strokes its head with his knuckly fingers. “Poor little fellow.” He hums, “Amazing that he managed to fly all the way here in that state.”

“Amazing.” Theseus agrees, eyes narrowed at his younger brother, “How the hell did it find us? You reckon it’s able to track for Grindelwald? Has it lead him right to us?”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Tina protests, “Mister Graves you said that the bird attacked Grindelwald right? It saved your life! Why would it lead him to us after doing that?”

Theseus shakes his head, “It’s a bloody bird Goldstein, not known for their free will and intellect, he’s probably got a dozen curses on the thing.”

Graves ignores the bickering and steps closer to Newt, resting the tip of his wand among the glossy black feathers. The others fall silent to watch as he commands, “_Revelio_.”

Nothing. The bird remains a bird. He’s not entirely even sure what he’d expected. “_Incantato Revelio_.” He tries with more force, still no sign of dark magic, or any magic at all which seems unlikely. The way its behaved back in the village had not been natural, and as to why Grindelwald would have an ordinary crow with him…it’s got to be more than it appears.

“Well Mister Scamander? You’re our resident zoologist, any notion as to what this thing might be?”

Newt’s brow creases and he gently turns the bird over in his grip, it’s small enough that he can keep it under control with just one hand. “I mean, by all means it appears to be a normal crow. An American crow to be exact, looking at his size and plumage.”

“American? So Grindelwald brought it all the way here from America?”

“Yes almost certainly. As you’ve surely noticed the crows around here have grey feathers covering their chests and backs, like they’re wearing little waistcoats. All eastern European crows do, you only see the pure black colour west of Italy. And I’m ninety precent sure that he’s of the American variety.”

“Well I’m boggled. Why would a man like Gellert Grindelwald drag an utterly unremarkable pest all the way across the Atlantic?” Theseus exclaims, “And what are we supposed to do with it?”

Graves turns the situation over in his mind, searching for any strand of logic to follow. The bird seems harmless, aside from poking some holes in his scarf. As absurd as it sounds it had saved his life back in the village, and looking back with hindsight it may have been attempting to warn him of the danger he’d been in. And now it’s tracked them here, sought them out rather than returning to its master. Could it be leading Grindelwald to them as they speak? That would theoretically be a good thing, if it helped locate him faster. “Bring it inside for now, perhaps it’ll be useful somehow.”

“Useful?” Theseus seems skeptical but his brother beams, shifting the bird into the crook of his arm like he’s holding an infant.

“I don’t know,” Graves grunts, “I’m too damned tired to think. Come get me if anything happens, I’ll be in my bunk.”

He wants more than anything the escape of a long dreamless sleep, but he can’t take a potion for it, he needs his wits about him if he needed to wake suddenly. So when he sags down into his bunk - thankfully the room is empty - he practices some of the meditations he’d learned in Mexico. Tossing off his boots and jacket he stretches out perfectly flat on his back. A blank mind has never been an easy thing for him to achieve, even in youth he’d always been full of racing thoughts. Any time not plotting and planning a mulling things over seemed like a waste, but then came Grindelwald tearing up and burning out everything in his life worth thinking about.

He hadn’t been sleeping; when he arrived in Mexico he’d been teetering at the precipice of a real burnout. Grindelwald was behind bars, Credence was still gone, and Graves was retired. Retirement was supposed to mean that he could relax and take care of himself. But for a man like Graves it meant stagnation, it meant time alone with his own thoughts, without a purpose to keep him going. At the time it had felt like a death sentence.

_“It’ll be good for you,”_ Seraphina had said, _“for once in your life you can sit down, take a load off. Stop running."_ She should have known better than that. Graves had always assumed he wouldn’t live long enough to retire, his job was a hazardous one that made him a lot of very dangerous enemies. It had suited him fine. What would he do with himself in retirement?

(Credence. He’d be with Credence. But he wouldn’t be would he, not now. And now he had to come to terms with that.)

So he’d arrived on Emmanuel’s doorstep like a half mad stray, unsure as to what to do with this retirement business besides sit on their couch and resist the urge to kill himself for as long as he could.

Yaoxochitl probably saved his life. After three days wherein he drifted around their apartment like a ghost, she dragged him out for a long hike up the valley. They were out there for two days, spending the night on top of the plateau meditating.

It was night but the stars were so bright that he could see everything as clear as day. Clearer even, more vibrant. The desert came alive at night more than it ever was in daylight, the indigo black sky swirling with insects and bats in spiralling dance, pearly moths landing on the moon flowers that unfolded on the outstretched arms of cacti.

They sat together, just breathing. Meditation is one of those things that falls in the narrow crack between magical and spiritual. Some wizards thought it to be a quack practice, the sort of stuff with no real substance best to be left to nomajs and squibs. Graves himself had thought so in fact. But he allowed Yao to coach him through the breathing exercises .

Body over mind is their goal; the brain is not the only part of you that is important, it’s just the loudest part. If your mind is too much and overwhelming the rest of you, meditation is a tool to help work away that stress, and dispense it by spreading the focus out across the whole physic instead of leaving it all in one point of focus.

First step is the most painful, you must enter into the place of turmoil, embrace it and feel its many faucets in order to loosen the knot. Once the unspooling begins, you expand your focus gradually wider. Paying attention to the physical things - the way the warm breeze plucks gently at your hair, tugging at the follicles in your scalp, the way your inner ear responds to the subtle noises of the night settling in around you, the press of your own tongue against the back of your teeth, down your spine and it’s many spots of tension, pause in the curves of your neck and arching of tight muscle and try to unclench, feel the minute itch of your jacket collar, wander down the shoulder blade, the pain of old injury aches deep and familiar, feel the angle at which your elbows crook, in through the tender arteries of your wrist that flock with you pulse to the sensitive sensitive nerves of your hand, you could spend hours alone in the hand, feeling the undulations of temperature, the beat of your own heart strong here. But you must continue the exploration through the rest of you body, depositing your presence in your path and becoming steadily less balled up as you do. And don’t stop there, once you reach the tips of your toes keep going, feel the ground beneath you, the roots of the plants buried in the soil, the life spinning upward through the trucks and branches and leaves. Feel the insects scuttling about, the rodents burrowing, the larger animals breathing. Feel the hidden water trickling in ancient underground paths deep below, feel the endless weight of the land, the great slabs that make up mountains and then plunge away into valleys. Feel the depth of the sky and the millions of burning stars above. Feel all these things and more and suddenly your own mind doesn’t seem so scary, above the roar of the sun and the sucking void of space your mind is peace and calm and quiet.

Graves opens his eyes to find the bird inches away from his face.

Coming out of meditation isn’t quite like waking up from sleep, the sense of peace carries over and there’s no groggy confusion. He stares calmly at the bird, who stares back with beady black eyes. It’s apparently made itself comfortable right on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. It’s got a bandage wrapped around the injured wing, which seems a bit primitive. Graves would have though Newt would be able to fix it up better than that.

While he was meditating the sun had gone down and the others are asleep in their bunks. McLeod’s snores have hit the steady pace that means it must be well into the night. Graves can see a bundle of rags beside Newt’s bed that looks like it was probably intended as a nest for the creature, before it elected to join Graves instead. Brilliant.

Probably thank to the meditation he can’t be bothered to shoo it away. Instead he allows his eyes to drift shut and falls into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning over breakfast Newt explains. “None of my healing spells worked on him, it’s confounding! It’s just a simple sprain but something is blocking me from mending it. So I had to do with a muggle splint which will take much longer.”

Tina has managed to coax the bird to her side by sharing her toast, but otherwise the thing has stuck to Graves like a limpet. He’s tried several times to get it away but it’s very determined. “It’s like my gran’s old cat!” Jones jokes, “The wretched thing has a sixth sense for finding the one person in the room who hates cats and climbs all over ‘em. Cheeky bugger.”

Graves ignores him and watches the bird as it plucks pieces of bread from Tina’s palm so gently it’s almost polite. “What on earth could be blocking your spell? We determined that there’s no curses on it.”

“That’s what was boggling me too, but then I had the thought. What if it’s not so much that there aren’t any curses per se, but that our revealing spells were being blocked the same way? So I tried a few more spells,” He waves his wand at the bird in demonstration and says, “_Colovaria._” to no effect. Its feathers remain resolutely black.

Graves frowns, perturbed. Even if there’s a shielding charm on it that prevents the effect of their own it should still have been uncovered by a revealing charm. Completely invisible magic isn’t unheard of but it’s highly improbable. “Could it be an illusion?” Tina asks, “If it’s not actually a crow but just a real convincing projection it wouldn’t be affected by spells.”

Graves thinks about it, “No I can’t see how that would be possible. We can all see and hear and feel it, for an illusion that solid to last this long the caster would have to be present to maintain it.”

The group falls into a pensive silence as the bird finishes Tina’s toast. Once all the crumbs are gone it hops back across the table to resume its preferred perch on Graves’ shoulder. “Well it’s certainly intelligent.” Theseus comments, “And it plays favourites. To track us out here, that’s got to be five kilometres at least.”

“_Corvus brachyrhynchos_ are very smart.” Newt responds, “And have been well documented to recognize human faces. It’s not necessarily a sign of malignant forces.”

“We’d have no way to know for certain, would we.”

They don’t. With its confounding resistance to their spells there’s no sure way to tell whether or not the creature is more than it seems. It doesn’t feel dark, nor does it act unusually beyond stubbornly imprinting on Graves. They decide to keep it around for now, at least until it’s sprain heals and Newt can remove the splint. Besides, since Grindelwald hasn’t resurfaced they haven’t received instructions to leave yet. And the crow offers a modest distraction from how boring it is cooped up and waiting for their marching orders.

For lack of else to do, Graves begins some nomaj defensive training. He’s flying a bit blind, he himself hasn’t used his own minimal training in a very long time. He works with Tina to develop a set of drills that they then introduce to the group. It’s a learning curve, teaching aurors to think in terms of non magical weapons. Especially with some of the newer technologies that the past decade has churned out; as of yet there’s no shielding charm strong enough to block a shell, nor can one wizard with a wand expect to stand against a machine gun. That’s not even beginning to factor in grenades or gas canisters which had devastated their men during the Great War.

Out in the yard they brainstorm the logistics of altering a shielding charm that could be used to contain the blast of a bomb. They practice with coloured smoke bombs to moderate success. A variation of the basic shielding charm is the logical jumping off point, but several difficulties arise. While there have been cases of a caster using _Protego_ to shield someone or something across a distance, is has always been used to keep a destructive force out. They need to figure out how to keep it in. So they try a variety of incantations before settling on _Protego Retrorsum_ which - when cast around Theseus - does work to block spells from the inside. But the next problem is determining whether or not it will even register nomaj bombs as something to shield against. The smoke bombs tend to leak right past the barriers, clearly not activating the protective properties. They try layering on _Fianto Duri_ in hopes the added strength will seal it against the non-magical particles. That works well enough with the smoke but when they try it on fire and debris it crumbles under the force. Then Jones suggests adding an imperturbable charm and they finally have something that might just work.

“It’s a lot of layers.” Theseus points out as they watch their squad practice. “In the heat of battle, the chances of being able to get all three up in time…”

“I know.” Graves sighs, “I’ll write to Bennington to get his team on something more streamlined.” The research and development department at MACUSA takes ages to get new spells cleared for public use, so many trials, so much paperwork. “For now at least we have more than nothing.”

‘More than nothing’ about sums up the days that follow. A couple of reports come in of some of Grindelwald’s officers; they seem to have scattered for now, making it near impossible to focus on one area in particular. It’s more than nothing but it’s not exactly _something_. Not anything of worth.

Yelena goes back to Moscow to report to her superiors, without his partner Vitaliy is sulky and snappish. Emery and O’Brien return from the city, healed of their injuries, and the house becomes crowded. Tempers run short all around, men can only live so many days on beans and toast. Newt goes and gathers some wild sprouts and berries to diversify their diet but they taste so bitter and stringy that most of them don’t bother. A freezing rainstorm chases away the mild weather and settles in around them. They’re cold and wet, cooped up together and miserable.

“There’s got to be something we can do.” Graves pleads, knees twinging on the brick hearth with his head in the fireplace. Thousands of miles and an ocean away Seraphina looks down at him from one of the huge winged chairs in her office. What Graves wouldn’t give to be allowed to step through and join her for just a few minutes, get warm and have some of the scotch he knows is just over there in the cabinet. God it’s been a long time since he’s had a drink. Unfortunately they’re strictly limited to flooing for communication only, full body travel is not permitted and would mean he’d have to reapply for all the permits to be allowed to travel back. “Sera we’re dying over here. Can’t they clear us for a new placement, or even patrols, anything at all.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic.” She replies, “I know that you’ve been on longer stake-outs before. I’ve been with you on longer stake-outs.”

“It’s not me, it’s these damned children I’m stuck with. They’re going stir crazy.”

She laughs an unladylike snort, “The best and the brightest of the British and American ministries? Defeated by a little bit of down time?”

“The best and the brightest are being wasted here twiddling their thumbs and getting on my nerves. Sera please. At least file a request to allow us to leave the property. Go into town and see if there’s anything that might’ve been missed.”

“Alright alright, I’ll ask Sokolov permission for you to take a stroll through the woods. You know it’s an awful lot of work for me Percival, and they might not even say yes. You know there’s not much the Soviets enjoy more than denying us things.”

“I’m very grateful.”

“You’d better be. You do know you won’t find anything right? You’re sending me scraping and begging to Grigori fucking Sokolov for nothing.”

“You never know. It’s no less futile than any other exercise at this point.”

She groans and slouches back in her seat, rubbing her temple. “Don’t I know it. If we don’t find something soon I’m worried Milton’s going to push for a vote of non-confidence.”

“Like hell, as if that glorified pencil-pusher could do any better! He’s never spent a day of his life in the field!”

“I know that, you know that. But he’s got a fair few people convinced that he could. He’s never going to let hem forget that I let Grindelwald get away, and the longer it takes us to catch him the more precarious my position grows.”

“Bastards. And there’s still nothing? How can there be nothing we had this cursed country on lock. We should have felt it when he crossed the border.”

“We thought we did. He must’ve slipped through somehow. An unregistered portkey, Maybe our calculations on the apparition perimeter were off.”

A thought tickles at Graves’ mind, cage and half formed. “What if…what if he didn’t leave. We didn’t feel him cross the border because he never did.”

Sera straighten back up and regards him with raised brow. “You think he’s still in Latvia? Why the hell would he have stayed with the whole of the federation’s attention there? It would be mad.”

“Yes.” Graves concedes, “I suppose.”

“Of course you suppose. Besides we would have found him if he was. They searched every damned farm twice.”

“You’re right. As usual.”

They say their goodbyes and Graves pulls himself out of the fire. His body makes it immediately clear how unhappy it is that he’d spend forty minutes on his knees. His joints pop audibly as he gets to his feet and straightens his clothes. As soon as he’s up the crow hops off the mantle and back onto his shoulder, Merlin forbid it leave him in peace for a single moment.

Graves paces over to the table and collapses into a chair. He’s been trying not to do anything to encourage the animal’s absurd attachment to him, but now he offers his wrist for it to hop along, bringing of around to face him. The creature barely weighs anything at all. With one finger he strokes the silk smooth space between its eyes. It rises to his touch, remarkably unafraid for an animal that’s clearly been abused.

“What do you think?” He asks the crow, “is he still here? Is that why we can’t find him?”

It just blinks, as birds do. Graves sighs and stops petting, which is evidently the wrong move because the bird puffs and nips his thumb.

“Merlin alright.” He obliges and keeps petting. And then the tickling thought blooms into something more. “He would stay if he left something behind. Something important.”

The crow just blinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *NKMD: Narodnyy Komissariat magicheskikh Del - People’s Commissariat for Magical Affairs the magical Soviet police force 
> 
> Bit of a filler chapter, sorry it took me ages to get this out. This is a lot more narratively structured than my usual writing, I work better with non-linear stuff like Testament. But finally here it is!


End file.
